Sleepover
by shadowmaat
Summary: More Factley fluff. Wheatley finally spends the night at Craig's place and it winds up being more eventful than anticipated. Pre-core, set in the Geekenders 'verse.


Craig was propped on one arm, watching Wheatley sleep. He smiled, fingers stroking the hair splayed across his pillow. Still basking in the embers of the afterglow it was easy to forget his very reasonable-seeming objections. Maybe this hadn't been such a terrible idea after all. And really, what were the odds that tonight of all nights someone would stop by? They never had before, and he was far too boring a personality to wind up on Security's radar.

His hand moved on, tracing the ridge of Wheatley's clavicle and passing over the fading bruises from the time the elevator doors had closed on him. Then there was the pockmark scar from being impaled on a pencil. Tiny scratches from an encounter with one of the escaped lab mice. Three small black dots that even Wheatley couldn't explain. He leaned down, trailing kisses along his ribs. Wheatley giggled, shifting under him, but didn't wake up.

Craig settled, draping himself over the much taller man and resting his head over his heart. He closed his eyes, listening to the slow, steady beat and breathing in the tangy mix of Irish Spring and too much Aqua Velva. Under that was the tantalizing, musky scent of Wheatley himself. Yes, this was definitely one of Wheatley's better ideas. A whole night together. No rushing, no watching for cameras, no worrying about mussed clothes, just the two of them. Together. For whole, uninterrupted hours. With a final, contented sigh, he started to drift to sleep.

* * *

Wheatley was aware of Craig's little explorations. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow, happy to let him do anything he wanted. Even Round Two. Wait… Three? It all kind of blurred together in the most amazing ways. Probably Three. Or-

The kissing caught him unawares and he giggled. Not that he was ticklish, of course. Not in the least bit ticklish. He was just happy; really, blissfully happy. He'd been half-convinced he wouldn't be able to wear Craig down about sleeping over. Funny that for all his fancy PhDs, DScs, DDTs, and whatever else, he could still get hung up on the weirdest little things. Like the fear of being caught.

OK, yes, _technically_ what they were doing could get them into a lot of trouble, but how bad could it be? First time offense and all, they'd likely be let off with just a warning. Maybe a stern word or two. Like "don't do this again." Or more accurately, "don't get caught." But nothing bad had happened yet and Wheatley was really pretty sure most people wouldn't even care.

Craig made a wuffling noise against his chest that sent little prickles all up and down his spine. Mostly down. God, this was brilliant! The two of them, sleeping together! Well, one sleeping and one feeling giddy and grateful to the world. He caught Craig's hand and pulled it closer, kissing his fingers. They gave a light squeeze in response, but the scientist stayed asleep.

Wheatley extricated his other arm and wrapped it around Craig, smiling. Maybe they could try this again sometime. Tomorrow night. And the night after. He was more than halfway asleep when a noise like a buzzsaw snapped him back to wakefulness. He peered around the darkened room in case a seasick bear had somehow managed to open the door, then realized the sound was coming from his chest. Craig snored again. It was amazingly loud for someone so small. He chuckled lazily. Even his snore was adorable. Somewhat deafening and maybe a little alarming, but still adorable. Relaxed again, he tried to get to sleep.

* * *

Heavy pounding on the door dragged Craig from a dream about being crushed between two panels. He awoke to find Wheatley on top of him, boneless as a cat and snoring. The knock came again.

"Dr. Nolan? This is Security. Could you come to the door, please?"

Terror hit him like a jolt of electricity. He hauled himself out and over Wheatley, earning a sleepy protest.

"Uh! Uh, yeah! Just- just a minute!" Flicking on a light, he pulled on clothes with shaking hands and cast a wild look at Wheatley, still sound asleep. He was too big for the bed as it was and there was no way he'd be able to wrestle the covers over him. Casting about he saw the moon-print throw Kevin had gotten him for Christmas folded on top of the wardrobe. He hopped to grab it, tossing it over as much of the gangly giant as he could. It would have to do. He went to the door and opened it as far as the security chain would allow.

"Y-yes? Is- is there a problem?" He squinted, partly from the brightness in the hall, but also because he'd forgotten to put on his glasses.

"Dr. Craig Nolan?" A dark shape loomed in the small opening. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but would you mind answering a few questions for us?"

The blood in his veins seemed to turn to ice. He tried to lick his lips. "Is there a problem?"

"I hope not," the guard said. "We're just looking for a few answers right now."

Craig glanced at the moon-shrouded form on his bed. What could he do? Running wouldn't get him very far and he couldn't leave Wheatley behind to the untender mercies of Security. He undid the chain and slipped into the hall, latching the door behind him. The guard thrust something at him and he flinched before realizing it was a sheet of printout.

"Do you recognize this?"

Craig squinted, holding the page closer. "It's… The Hostile Companion Cube project?"

"Yes, sir. Do you know if it works? The notes don't say."

"Uh…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to adjust mental gears. This had nothing to do with him or Wheatley at all. But why in the world would they want to know about the Hostile Cubes? "They didn't escape, did they? I mean, yes, they work," he said, handing the page back. "A little too well. We couldn't get close enough to adjust the settings or deactivate them, so we had to dump them in the Timeout Room." He tugged on his sleeve, which seemed to be at least six inches too long and the wrong color.

"Great!" The guard lifted his radio and relayed the information to someone else. "And they'd be considered fatal if swallowed, right?"

Craig stared at him. "It's a two-foot cube with retractable spikes. The human jaw can only open to a width of approximately 44mm. Even if you _could_ unhinge your mandible like a snake there's no possible way you could mistakenly swallow one."

"Funny you should mention snakes." The guard grinned at him. "Anyway, this wouldn't be by accident. The mouth in question could fit two of 'em side by side. Thanks for your-"

The door opened to reveal Wheatley, hair sticking every which way and rubbing at his eye.

"Oi! Some of us are trying to- oh!" He stopped mid-yawn. "Er… H-Hello there! I was just here to, um… fix the pipes. It, uh, it got a bit wet…"

A band wrapped itself around Craig's chest and squeezed. He was dead. They were both dead. At least Wheatley was wearing boxers, but that wasn't going to make any difference.

The guard looked at the two of them. "…Right, well, thanks for your help, Dr. Nolan. I'll, ah, let you get back to your 'pipe repairs', now." He smiled, turning his attention to Wheatley. "Maybe later you can stop by and help me plug a leak, too?"

"Uh…" Wheatley's pale skin turned scarlet from the chest up. "Uh, I- I'm a bit booked, at- at the moment…"

"It was worth a shot." Sighing, the guard turned to leave. "Have a good night. And thanks again for your help!"

"Er… C-Craig?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder but shook his head, waiting for the guard to turn the corner.

"Get in the room."

"Look, I- I'm sorry about that. I-"

"Room."

Wheatley backed up, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to tame it. "You- you aren't going to kick me out, are you?"

After making sure the door was locked again, Craig paused to gather himself and turned, clinging to him.

"Wh- Oh! Oh, haha, this is… is nice. Right?" Wheatley returned the hug, a little tentative.

"Next time, _just stay in the bed!_"

"Yes, well, hindsight is 50-50, as they say."

Craig shook his head. "Bed. Now."

"Yeah? You're all Mr. Bossysocks now? In- in my shirt. Looks good on you, by the way." Wheatley grinned down at him. "So how are you gonna make me, then, huh?"

Craig showed him.

"Mmm… That… that is a convincing argument…"

"And you won't be helping that other guy with his 'plumbing' problem, right?" Craig demanded.

"Hmm? What other guy?"

He smiled. "Right answer."

The light clicked off.


End file.
